


To Guide You Through This Darkness

by EscapeArtist13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapeArtist13/pseuds/EscapeArtist13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has always been drawn to death, but not out of morbid curiosity, like most people seem to think. Like all of his mother’s family, he is one of the agents of death. His proximity helps ease the dead from one plane to another. His job is not to interfere or judge the final destination. The higher powers make that call. He’s just here to be a conduit, to grease the proverbial wheels of the connection between realms for the troubled souls who cannot move on on their own. But when something starts messing with the natural order of these proceedings, Stiles and his brethren are the only ones in any position to find out what the hell is going on or do something about it (with a little help from his friends, of course)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Guide You Through This Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea just kind of popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote something down. To be completely honest, I don't have a lot of time for a novel-length fic like this idea seems to lend itself to, so I'm not sure if this is going to go anywhere or not. If anyone's interested in adopting this idea, please, message me. In the meantime, however, I did get down one chapter, for your enjoyment. Not betaed, and I'm far to lazy to check it over carefully for mistakes, so please be nice and ignore any you may stumble across.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, thank you to those who read my other (very first!) fic- "Stiles' Boyfriend". You are all so very lovely and supportive, it makes a girl want to write some more! ;)
> 
> *Despite my recent forays into black voodoo magic and mind control, I have yet to succeed in getting the Teen Wolf rights signed over to my benevolent rule. Until such a time as my efforts bear fruit, I find myself, sadly, not the owner of the show and characters contained therein.

Chapter 1

           

            A black sedan pulls into the dark alleyway, rolling to a stop in the pool of shadow beneath the arch of the deserted onramp. The music cuts out as the keys are pulled out of the ignition, and in the absence of the throbbing beat, muffled screams can finally be heard emanating from the trunk. Cowboy boots crunch against the uneven cement as a tall man emerges from the car, tucking a six-shot revolver into the back of his pants before circling towards the back of the car. The man pulls open the trunk, and now the screams can be clearly heard, barely muffled by the length of duct tape sealing the captive man’s mouth shut. The man in the cowboy boots pulls the man struggling futilely with his bound libs out of the car and into the street, forcing him to kneel before him.

The kneeling man pleads with his eyes, tears streaming down his face as the man in the cowboy boots pulls out and cocks the revolver, but the man just shrugs.

“Sorry, man”, the man in the cowboy boots says, his expression vaguely apologetic, but with not a hint of remorse, “I really did like you, but business is business.”

He pulls the trigger only once, and the bound man slumps sideways, a pool of blood spreading rapidly beneath his head.  

The man in the cowboy boots calmly tucks the revolver back into his pants, closes the trunk of the car, and then climbs into the driver’s seat. The car grows back to life and the throbbing beat can once again be heard through the open windows. As the car rolls away down the narrow street and turn back onto the main road, the man in the cowboy boots’ voice can be heard singing along.

 

On the roof of one of the empty warehouses overlooking the street, a boy of maybe sixteen years sits calmly overlooking the scene. The sleeves of his red hoodie are pushed up over his forearms, and his legs dangle over the edge of the building as he calmly munches away at the curly fries in the paper container he holds in his lap.

“Tough luck, dude”, he says cheerfully to the figure at his left, “I’d offer you a fry as consolation, but, well…”

The man is still wearing the same clothes he died in, but the duct tape has disappeared.

“Am I… dead?” he says hesitantly.

“Oh yeah, dude”, the teenager snorts, “Dead as a doornail. That’s kind of a weird expression isn’t it? I mean, what the hell is a doornail? Well, a nail for doors, maybe? But a nail is an inanimate object, so if it was never alive, how can it be dead…”

The man beside him, however, does not appear to be paying any attention to the boy’s ramblings.

“How can I be dead? I’m right here!” he’s mumbling to himself.

“You got shot in the face, man” the teenager says matter-of-factly, “you got to face the facts, no pun intended- you are an ex-parrot. If it’s any consolation, though, hell is totally a real thing, and judging by the look on that guy’s face when he shot you, he’s totally gonna end up there, so…”

The man looks at him uncertainly. “Are you… an angel?”

The boy laughs.

“Nah man,” he wipes his right hand free of grease in his jeans and offers it to the man to shake, “I’m Stiles. I’m just here to help you get where you’re going.”

“And”, the man swallows, “where an I going?”

“Sorry”, Stiles says with a conciliatory smile, “that’s not my call. The higher-ups decide where you end up. I just get you from here to there. Speaking of which, I hate to be rude, but it’s one in the morning, and I have school tomorrow, so…”

“Right” the man says, looking like he’s mostly still in shock, “I guess I need to…get going?”

“Yeah, you do” Stiles says, swallowing the last of his curly fries and crumpling up the empty paper bag to stow in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Will it… hurt?”

“No” Stiles says with a soft smile. “Just close your eyes.”

The man does, and has the fleeting sensation of a warm palm against his forehead and a flash of light through his eyelids before he is gone from this plane of existence.

Stiles cracks his neck and rolls shoulders. He sighs as he walks over to the fire escape to make his way back down to where his Jeep is parked a few streets over.

“Work, work, work”, he grumbles to himself, “maybe I should just skip morning practice and sleep in tomorrow. Finstock would kill me though…”

He slides nimbly down the metal railing and disappears into the quiet night.


End file.
